


This house don't feel like home

by maniasquared



Series: Stucky One-Shots and Drabbles [29]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Drunkenness, F/M, Fist Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Homophobia, M/M, Memories, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pregnancy, Sad, Secret Relationship, The Author Regrets Everything, Unplanned Pregnancy, im sorry i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniasquared/pseuds/maniasquared
Summary: He sat on the toilet seat, scrunching his nose at the sting whenever his boyfriend dabbed the cuts and scrapes.“I swear to God if I ever get my hands on whoever did this to you...” Bucky seethed, a scowl etched onto his face. Steve cupped his cheek, gentle, giving him a small, sad smile. The gesture whispered it’s okay. He received a twitch of Bucky’s lips turning upward for a second, then the hardness melted away.Steve thought about that night a lot. It was the same night Bucky told him that he loved him for the first time. He took one of Steve’s battered hands and guided it to his chest. Steve could feel the steady thrum of his partner’s heartbeat. “Feel that? It’s yours, all yours. Only for you. I love you.”





	This house don't feel like home

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm alone 'cause this house don't feel like home, if you love me, don't let go"
> 
> Title from "Unsteady" by X Ambassadors.
> 
> This is un-beta'd. I edit my own work.

The house was quiet. It was well past one o’clock in the morning, and Bucky still wasn’t back. Steve started to worry. Bucky told him not to wait up, he always did, afraid Steve would get jealous and hostile toward him. It was an irrational fear; they both knew Bucky did what he did to keep them safe.

See, it wasn’t easy being a same-sex couple in the 1940s. Not with the risks and consequences. It was worth it, though, being with each other. Steve knew Bucky would be pissed if he ever admitted that, Bucky wanted to protect him at all costs. It was both frustrating and endearing. But Steve wouldn’t give it up for the world. For once in his goddamn life, he felt like he belonged somewhere. He felt wanted and loved in a way that no one else made him feel.

Still, he never understood what Bucky saw in him. There were plenty of bigger, more attractive men he could choose from. Especially at the secret gay bars in downtown. There were men who weren’t constantly falling ill, men who could hold their own in a fight. There were women who were infinitely better than himself, yet Bucky chose him. There were beautiful women who were elegant and soft; they were worthy of Bucky’s affection, not Steve. Yeah, him? He was scrappy and had a bad attitude.

Bucky once said that Steve was hot when he got all pissy. It was in the middle of an argument and it only spurred him on, scowling and punching Bucky in the arm as hard as he could. He packed some heat behind it but it was never enough to cause any actual damage. It was the words behind the punch that caused Bucky’s pained expression. Steve wanted to feel guilty but he couldn’t. How could he say something like that when there were things of higher importance they needed to worry about? He curled his hands into fists and stomped off, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t see the way Bucky flinched at the sound, flinched at the rejection.

He knew that he didn’t intend what he said to be taken in a demeaning way, Bucky had a habit of making jokes to lighten the mood. It was just too serious of a situation for them to be messing around.

A few days later, while Bucky read and Steve sketched the beautiful serenity of it, he asked, “So you think I’m hot when I’m angry?”

Bucky scoffed, “Shut up.”

Steve saw the way his cheeks flushed, effectively ruining his aloof demeanor. He raised his eyebrows, slightly shocked. “You  _ do _ .”

“I said shut up, Rogers.” His blush deepened. He glared over the top of his book. Steve didn’t look up from his sketch.

“What? I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“You’re sucha liar,” Bucky accused. His eyes settled back to the page he was on. “I’m just gettin’ to a good part, now shut your trap.”

“Make me,” Steve challenged with a mischievous grin. His eyes left his sketchbook at the sound of Bucky growling. Folding the edge of a page, Bucky slammed the novel shut and tossed it onto the table in front of him. When he stood, he silently commanded with only the glint in his eyes. Steve suppressed a laugh and sauntered toward their bedroom.

Bucky followed, muttering, “Brat.” It was a good day.

He sat in the same, ratty armchair, worry crawling into his chest. It made a home there. It ate away in his throat and spread through his body. It made him sick to his stomach. Bucky didn’t stay out this late, never. He tried to come home by midnight every time. He didn’t want to be out any longer than he had to. He didn’t like being away from Steve.

But what if he got into a bar fight? What if he was taken into a back alley? What if he got beat up? What if he got hurt?

Steve stopped himself. He breathed in, a senseless attempt to calm himself down. Bucky was strong, he could get out of a bad situation if he needed to. He didn’t put himself in bad situations in the first place, ever. He didn’t get into fights like Steve. Bucky hated it when Steve got into fights. But it wasn’t his fault. People assume that Steve went and picked fights, that he sought them out. In fact, fights were the ones that found Steve.

One time, he came home and it had been worse than the other brawls. It was after dark, but Bucky was working at the docks still. They needed the extra money that month: rent had just been raised due to inflation and Steve lost his job a few days prior to the announcement from their landlord. The two tried to reduce whatever wasn’t wholly necessary out of their budget and Bucky got extra shifts when he could.

Winter was on its way and they couldn’t afford to be homeless during that brutal time of the year. The sun went down by 5:30 pm and that certainly wasn’t helping Steve’s seasonal depression. He was looking for a job and he was even on the way back from an interview when he was jumped by two men. One of them alone was twice his size, so of course he didn’t stand a chance against them. It was basically four against one. He was an easy target for their “fun and games.” Make the little guy their personal punching bag, a pass time that many people indulged in.

Steve Rogers was nothing if he ever backed out of a fight, though.

His ma told him when he was younger to keep getting back up, no matter what. Walk it off. “Don’t let them get you down, Steven.”

He took those words to heart. Even if it did end up with him receiving more injuries.

When he checked his watch, it was just past 7 pm. Bucky would be home any minute. Steve remembered how he looked in the dingy bathroom mirror. He had a black eye and his lip bled along with his forehead, both pretty bad gashes. He lifted his bloodied shirt off with a groan and his torso was littered with blossoming bruises. There were cuts along his chest and shoulders. He might have a cracked rib, he wasn’t quite sure. Not that he could afford to get it checked out. Not that there was much a doctor could do about it, either. He was a sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure. There was no way he could hide any of the injuries from Bucky.

As if on cue, Steve heard the front door open and he froze, gripping the bottle of antiseptic. When Bucky called out, he reluctantly answered. Bucky walked in with a grin on his face, which promptly fell as soon as he saw the state of his roommate.

It was the same question every time: “Who did this to you?”

And (nearly) every time it was the same response: “I don’t know.”

Bucky helped clean him up even after he claimed he could do it himself. It certainly didn’t persuade him when Steve went to reach for the bandages and he winced from simply raising his arm. He sat on the toilet seat, scrunching his nose at the sting whenever his boyfriend dabbed the cuts and scrapes.

“I swear to God if I ever get my hands on whoever did this to you...” Bucky seethed, a scowl etched onto his face. Steve cupped his cheek, gentle, giving him a small, sad smile. The gesture whispered  _ it’s okay _ . He received a twitch of Bucky’s lips turning upward for a second, then the hardness melted away.

Steve thought about that night a lot. It was the same night Bucky told him that he loved him for the first time. He took one of Steve’s battered hands and guided it to his chest. Steve could feel the steady thrum of his partner’s heartbeat. “Feel that? It’s yours, all yours. Only for you. I love you.”

Blushing, Steve would have said something snarky if he thought of it, but he was so overwhelmed by the declaration, he couldn’t. Instead, he replied, “I love you, too.”

Their lips met in a tender kiss. When they pulled apart, Bucky rested his forehead against Steve’s and told him, “This love is ours: it belongs to us. This is our home: it belongs to us, and us alone. We belong here, together. No one can take this away from us.”

Steve closed his eyes and repeated, “This love is ours: it belongs to us.” He added, “I belong with you.”

The world stopped at that moment and they were enveloped in their private space where nothing else mattered.

Sometimes there’s a beauty in stillness, Steve thought.

Other times, it brought anxiety and fear.

Like now, with him perched on the windowsill, taking in the city as he waited for Bucky. He got antsy in the armchair; he wasn’t able to stay in one place for too long. The time continued ticking by; it was nearing a quarter to two o’clock. The worry that manifested in his rib cage was growing into a grotesque monster. He tried to ignore the way his bones ached and his eyes drooped with a mixture of sorrow and fatigue. It was becoming intolerable. Maybe he should just go to sleep and he’d wake when Bucky slid into their bed.

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” Bucky’s voice drifted into the room. Steve didn’t hear the door open, but he heard the strain in Bucky’s tone. “I told you not to stay up for me.”

Steve turned, and from the moment he laid his sights on his boyfriend, he knew something was wrong. His normally well-kept hair was fluffed up as if he ran his fingers through it multiple times. Even in the low lighting, Steve saw the puffy redness of Bucky’s eyes. His smile was forced.

He dreaded the answer, but he had to ask. “What’s wrong?”

Hands shaking, Bucky removed his coat and draped it over one of their kitchen chairs. “I saw Marjorie again.”

He ignored the question. It made Steve’s stomach churn.

“Oh,” Steve said, hollow. Bucky didn’t usually see the same girl twice except every once in a while so it seemed like he was “starting to go steady” before he eventually broke it off with her or she broke it off with him. They never lasted, obviously, because Bucky was already taken. It was only an act he needed to maintain in order to keep from him and Steve being discovered. Steve occasionally felt a drop of doubt, thinking one day Bucky’s going to find someone better and he’ll leave Steve for a person he can actually have a family and a future with. He tried his best to push those thoughts away.

“Yeah, thought I’d take her dancing since she was a swell gal last time, y’know?” Bucky stayed near the entrance; he avoided eye contact.

He didn’t know. He said ‘yeah’ anyway. He didn’t want to ask but it was only polite and his curiosity was getting to him. “This is the second time you’ve gone on a date with her?”

“Third, actually,” corrected Bucky, shifting back and forth on his feet. He picked at his fingernails. “Went dancing with her about two weeks ago, and the first date was three weeks before that.”

Nodding, Steve cleared his throat. He knew there was something on Bucky’s mind, he just didn’t know how to bring it up when the situation was already so delicate. He especially hated this question, yet that never stopped him before: “So you just went dancing?”

Bucky wasn’t stupid, he understood what the real meaning was:  _ did you have sex with her? _ Steve wasn’t being accusational; they both agreed that it would be best if Bucky sporadically slept with the women he brought out on dates, so people wouldn’t be suspicious. Can’t be a lady’s man without having sex with some of the women, right? The same things would be expected of Steve if he was able to successfully ask women out. No one was interested in him; he was constantly rejected. Regardless, it hurt, knowing Steve had to deal with the burden that he wasn’t the only one Bucky had sex with. Even if he was the only person Bucky wanted to have sex with. Despite the way the public saw him, Bucky Barnes was a one-partner kind of guy.

“Yeah. I mean, no. I-I don’t know.” He wasn’t able to get his thoughts straight.

“You don’t know?” The monster banged its ugly fists against the inside of Steve’s rib cage and it clutched his throat so oxygen struggled in and out of his body.

“We just danced, Stevie,” he explained. “When I was walking her home, we talked. But that’s it.”

Steve recognized that Bucky was withholding information. “So you talked, and that’s it?”

Bucky nodded. “Yes. I brought her home at about half past midnight.” Steve made an indignant noise and his boyfriend tensed at the sound. He wanted to ask why it took so long to get home. Bucky squirmed. Then, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He sighed, running his fingers through his messy hair. “She—she told me something before I left….”

“What did she say?” Steve furrowed his brows.

Jaw locked, Bucky dragged his gaze from the floor and Steve saw the tears forming. He almost didn’t hear it when Bucky whispered, “She told me she’s pregnant.”

The beast cackled and pumped Steve’s blood full of poison. His stomach dropped with the sensation filling him up. “Wh-what?”

“She’s pregnant,” Bucky replied thickly, louder this time. He let out a shuddering breath before continuing, face wet. “I-I asked her why she was tellin’ me all this and she said I was the only person she’s—she’s been with. And I thought for a second she was lyin’ because we hadn’t—not the last time…. Then I remembered she invited me up after the first date and—and…” He rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, tears falling relentlessly. “I wasn’t sauced… but I had a bit to drink and I-I guess I—”

Steve didn’t need to hear the rest of the explanation; Bucky didn’t time it correctly in his state of intoxication and either didn’t pull out early enough or didn’t at all. Steve swallowed; he felt numb. “Are you… sure? Is she sure?”

“Said she went to the doctor after she wasn’t feelin’ well and they told her she’s four weeks along,” Bucky confirmed bitterly. He sank to the ground, unable to keep himself up any longer. Steve looked on, feeling the weight of reality crashing down. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I fucked things up. I’m so, so sorry.”

Steve wanted to tell Bucky that it was okay, that everything was going to be alright, that they’d figure something out, that it would work out eventually. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. They would just be big, fat lies anyway.

He didn’t know what was in store for Bucky, for himself, for their relationship.

It didn’t feel right; they were worlds apart now. Their home didn’t belong to them anymore.

But maybe it never did in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated. I love hearing your thoughts.


End file.
